


Queen of Storms

by lass_from_skye



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dragons, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, a song of ice and fire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lass_from_skye/pseuds/lass_from_skye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Will and MacKenzie within the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Get her to her feet. This is no way to treat a queen.” <i>McAvoy</i>, she thinks, and she wants to sob in relief. He is a good man, it seems, and honorable even if they were on opposite sides of this thing. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Storms

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the story of the founding of House Baratheon in _A World of Ice and Fire_ , which is an excellent read for any A Song of Ice and Fire fans. As I have been a fan of both ASOIAF and The Newsroom for ages, this fusion fic seemed like the perfect marriage of ideas for me.

“McAvoy’s armies are closing in, my queen.” MacKenzie slumps in her chair and stares, bleary eyed, over the map laid before her. While her men are well trained, there is no way that they could survive a siege for long. McAvoy has already conquered the Riverlands and has pushed through overland toward Storm’s End. Complicating matters is the fact that the Sapphire Isle has already fallen to his armies and McAvoy’s navy is blockading her ports. A siege has begun and considering McAvoy controls all the supply lines, their stores will run dry very, very soon. 

“We should flank them,” she says, biting her lip and moving her armies into the thick forests of the Rainwood. “There will be cover here with the trees and marshes and McAvoy’s horses will be at a disadvantage. He’ll have to leave his siege engines in the heavy mud and fight hand-to-hand, which will buy us time. Have you been able to get a ship out to send word to our allies in the Vale?” 

Ser Brian Brenner, her captain of guard, shakes his head. “No ships can pass McAvoy’s blockade and if your sister received our ravens, she has not responded. The rumor is that Queen Gwyneth has bent the knee to McAvoy to save her sons.” MacKenzie murmurs a curse. Her sister has always been fearful and protective of her children. If McAvoy threatened them in the slightest, she would bend the knee and give over her crown. It seems that has happened. 

“What of my brother? Has the North responded?” If one of Mathew’s ships could break the blockade, they might be saved. His wife was a Stark of Winterfell, before their marriage, and the North is well known for their fealty. Mathew’s wife has always been fond of her and if the King and Queen of Winter are on her side, they can field a large army for her cause.

“The North fights its own battles, your Grace, and has nothing to spare for even a sweet sister.” Damn. MacKenzie’s allies seem to be dwindling and McAvoy has the power of the West and the Reach already in hand through alliance. If her sister has surrendered the Vale and the North is busy fighting off their own threat, there is no one left but Dorne to reach for. Would Dorne even lend their aid?

“Dorne, then? Dorne must help. They can march from the south and aid us. I know they hate us and I cannot stand them but get a message to those damnable snakes and have them ally with us in order to remain sovereign. I’ll have it done at once.” Brenner nods his assent and leaves her with the map. MacKenzie looks over it for a few moments longer until she sweeps her hand across the pieces, sending wooden knights scattering across the floor.

***

“Has someone sent a raven to this self-professed Storm Queen? I would rather treat than fight.” Will is weary of fighting. This is his father’s war and only has become his because of the former’s untimely death. Will has never wanted to lead an army and it seems that he’s inherited more of a mess than he could possibly ever want. He has no love of warcraft and wants, instead, to retreat and take the lands he’s conquered and leave the stubborn fool to starve herself on her spit of land.

“I would send one if I did not fear that she’ll call down lightning bolts from the sky to roast them,” Charlie says, smirking a little. Will scowls in response. “No japes, Charlie. I want to broker a treaty with this madwoman and move on. We still have Dorne and the North to consider. It’s best to reach a treaty and move on. Offer her a marriage. I’ll take her hand in exchange for her port and for her armies to stop stealing the wheels off my siege engines.”

Charlie tuts a little under his breath. “What makes you think someone so stubborn as Queen MacKenzie is going to agree to get married in exchange for leaving you alone? She has the high ground here, you know. She just has to withstand a siege and hope that she can get word out to someone. She’s already sent ravens to the North and to Dorne that we’ve intercepted. Eventually, she’s going to get one out.”

Will shrugs. “Marriage is better than forfeiting her lands or her head. She would be wise to take the offer. To be the wife of a king isn’t such a bad thing. Every queen is wife to a king at some point. It’s how they become queen.” Charlie laughs even harder and touches his finger to the edge of Will’s map where he’s blocked off the Rainwood with McHale’s armies. 

“So why does she hold territory through force instead of what’s between her legs? This girl’s made herself a queen in her own right. She doesn’t need you to make her one. You’re going to have to give her better than a marriage to make her surrender her home. I’ll send a message and see if she wants to treat with us.” 

Will dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “See that it’s done. If she agrees, we’ll have the ceremony at the earliest opportunity and her armies will march with ours at first light on Dorne. She’ll hold Storm’s End in her own right and it will pass to our firstborn daughter.” 

Perhaps it won’t be so bad to marry his way out of this battle. It’s not like he’ll see her much, considering he still has Dorne and the North to claim for his own. Even with his supplies from House Tyrell, it will be a long, hard fight amongst the sands of Dorne and he’ll need all the help he can get. Lady MacKenzie can lend that aid.

***

“He wants to _marry_ me? Is he absolutely mad? Why on earth would I marry him?” Ser Barristan sighs and takes the letter back from her, folding it carefully. MacKenzie can tell that he thinks she’s mad for not considering it but she doesn’t think she should have to sell herself in order to buy her people some peace. The Stormlanders are a proud people and her words reflect that - I Will Not Settle Down. She isn’t going to yield when it seems she’s gotten to McAvoy enough to force him to sue for peace.

“You cannot withstand a siege, your Grace. You know this. McAvoy has suppressed all trade and all communication. Eventually, your people will grow sick and starve and it will be their queen they turn out. It is wise to submit to this marriage and see what you can broker for your people in the bargain. Send him a yes. Bring peace to your people. They will love you for it.” 

MacKenzie’s mouth is set in a stubborn line and she looks to Brian. He’s younger and more rash. If his council matches that of Barristan’s, it will mean something, but she doesn’t think it will be. She thinks Brian will goad her to fight, to resist, and she wants that answer. She wants to remain independent. 

“Fight, your Grace. Fight and show McAvoy you will not yield. Bring honor to your house.” MacKenzie nods once and takes a quill to write a hurried response, giving it to Brian to send to McAvoy and his vanguard. 

“There. See that you deliver it personally and report to me what his face looks like. I want to know his exact reaction, down to the most minute detail.” Brian’s lips curve up into a smile that looks a little feral and predatory and MacKenzie hopes it isn’t a reflection of her own. She’s pleased with herself, yes, but that looks a little frightening. 

“Your wish is my pleasure, your Grace,” he murmurs, taking his leave. Ser Barristan looks...disappointed but MacKenzie cannot focus on that. She has a war to win and she won’t do it by worrying about the feelings of others. She pushes up the sleeves of her gown past her slim wrists, flashing a pair of gold bracelets that wink in the candlelight as she plows through the rest of her correspondence. While she’s ostensibly focused on the letters before her, her mind is with a letter already sealed and sent.

***

> King of Dragons - 
> 
> The only hand you will have of mine is my fist. I reject your proposal and dare you to siege Storm’s End.

Will throws down the letter in disgust. Who does she think she is? He has her backed into a corner and offered her a chance for peace and prosperity and, above all, position. He already rules three kingdoms and he’s working on his fourth. Shouldn’t she want a part of that? It’s an honor. He could have any number of women and she’s the first he’s offered his hand to.

Her knight is standing there with a smirk on his face and Will is half tempted to send her back his sword hand. Wouldn’t that make a fine gift? Still, he doesn’t want to be his father and as much as he wants to lop off Brian Brenner’s right hand, he refrains. Instead, he blinks slowly and tries to compose a response. 

“Tell your queen that I accept her challenge. Tell her that we march to war on Storm’s End and House McHale.”

Brian dips his head and takes his leave, riding hard toward Storm’s End. Some of Will’s men want to cut him down but Will stays their hands. He wants the Storm Queen to know that he can be patient and fair and cutting down her messenger doesn’t ensure she knows that of him. He has the advantage and he hopes she’ll play right into his hand. 

And, truthfully, he does admire a woman who stands her ground. It’s the women who are the strong ones - his own mother had been strong enough to stand up to his father when it came to her children and Lady Sloan of Dorne has mustered an army to rival his own. Should Sloan choose to ally herself with MacKenzie, he would be squeezed between two powerhouses and his gains might turn to losses.

***

“He marches on Storm’s End, my queen.” Brian is out of breath and his horse seems to have seen better days. It had gone lame on the road back to the castle and he ran the last stretch. MacKenzie doesn’t like the look of him. If he’s run this far and this fast, not trusting his words to a raven but only to her ears personally, it cannot be good.

“He let you live even though he marches upon us? He’s nothing if not fair, I suppose.” MacKenzie paces around her war room, trying to decide what her options are. She can send her army to meet McAvoy’s host in a valiant charge - brave, but foolish. She can take her chances with a siege and hope that her smugglers are faster than McAvoy’s navy. “We’ll send small forces to flank him. If he’s distracted by the bear in front of him, perhaps he won’t notice the snakes biting at his heels.”

Ser Barristan rises from his chair and puts his hand at her elbow, eyes gentle and voice pleading. “My child, please reconsider his offer of peace. This fight is madness and you know it. There is nothing dishonorable about brokering peace and securing a good position for your people in the bargain. Many great houses have been joined in marriage and come out stronger for it. Come to him as an equal and join your houses. Please?” 

MacKenzie shakes her head, stubborn. She doesn’t want to concede even an inch of ground if she doesn’t have to and if it makes her a fool, it makes her a fool. “Sell myself in marriage to someone I don’t even know? Someone that I only know as a conqueror of armies and a rider of dragons? I’d rather be engulfed in flames than sell myself. In the Stormlands, he is _not_ my equal. I do not recognize his sovereignty as equal to my own. He is nothing to me in my home.”

“I want to be free to broker a marriage for love. Perhaps it is the fool idea of a young girl but it is my idea and mine alone. I do not want to have to give myself over in marriage to someone I do not know in order to buy the safety of my people.” She uncorks her bottle of wine and refills her glass, sipping from it as she speaks. “Madness runs in the McAvoy line. I do not want to marry a man who might be cruel to me. I don’t think any woman should be forced to marry.” It’s a radical idea, the idea that daughters aren’t just political pawns and coin to be spent but people with their own ideas and their own dreams outside of their duty. If her father were still alive, MacKenzie assumes she would have had a marriage planned for her and a betrothal well underway by this point but that’s not relevant any longer. She’s made her own path now. 

Barristan sighs and settles back into his chair and MacKenzie knows that while the war hasn’t been won, this particular battle has been conceded. Barristan is like her father, in many ways, and she values his counsel. She also values the counsel of Brian, someone who has seen battle and is young enough to still feel a hum in his blood when he swings a sword. Brian wants her to fight and MacKenzie is inclined to give it a shot. She has the defensive high ground and Storm’s End is backed up to a private port. Her boats could, theoretically, slip free of the blockade. 

“We fight. There will be no peace. Ser Brian, you will lead the vanguard?” He nods and slips away, dipping his head ever so slightly in deference to her. MacKenzie straightens the circlet that lays heavy upon her brow and settles back in her chair, surveying the map. If they can just hold on, send to their allies - there is a chance they can inflict enough casualties to McAvoy’s army that he will retreat and leave her alone.

It’s all she asks for.

***

MacKenzie isn’t sure how things turned south. She’d entrusted her army into the capable hands of Ser Brian, leaving him to lead the charge, and somehow it turned out that he surrendered upon riding up to McAvoy and promised to deliver her to him in chains. Her small personal guard, including Ser Barristan, had been unable to hold off a charge by their best soldiers and MacKenzie had been stripped and chained up before dragged out into the castle yard.

She supposes this is to humiliate her and she can imagine it wasn’t from McAvoy’s lips - he had seemed to be nothing but fair, for all he was a conqueror. She will not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her beaten. She holds her head high in spite of the current adversity and tries to ignore the stares of the men all around her. They jeer and cry out at her but she keeps walking, one foot in front of the other in spite of her manacles. 

When she is within a few feet of McAvoy, her guard shoves her down into the dirt, leaving her prostrate and splattered in mud. There is blood in her mouth where her lip had cut her teeth but MacKenzie refuses to cry. She does not want to give him the satisfaction of it. None of them will see her broken. She sees a hand in her field of vision and then there is the warmth of a cloak dropped upon her bare back. 

“Get her to her feet. This is no way to treat a queen.” _McAvoy_ , she thinks, and she wants to sob in relief. He is a good man, it seems, and honorable even if they were on opposite sides of this thing. She is brought to her feet and the manacles are removed; MacKenzie rubs at her chafed wrists and tries not to wince at how raw her skin felt. McAvoy drops his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. 

“Come, Lady MacKenzie. Let me get you something to eat and drink. I will have my maester tend your wounds.” MacKenzie wonders at his kindness, wonders why it should matter that he treat her sweetly when he would have her as his wife regardless of her wishes. It is puzzling to her but she needs someone to be kind to her since it seems her own army has turned against her and she nods along, following him. 

“As part of our marriage contract, I will allow Storm’s End to go to a female heir only. Should you have no daughter by me, you can name your successor as you see fit. No McAvoy shall ever inherit it without your consent.” MacKenzie’s head is swimming a bit and she does not know how she is expected to keep up with all of these changes while her body is bruised and her stomach claws with hunger. 

“Yes, your Grace,” she murmurs. McAvoy brings her into a tent and a woman pulls her close. “Out of here, Will, I have to get her ready for the wedding. Send someone with food and drink for her, she’s barely standing.” McAvoy nods and slips away from the tent, leaving MacKenzie alone with the woman who is tending her wounds and bathing her skin. 

“I don’t know why he did that. Ser Brian had already worked out the terms of the surrender when he came to see us before and Will didn’t want to see you hurt, sweetling. He simply wanted to end this fighting and broker a contract. He’s my son, he knows plenty about fighting but not very much about politics, I’m afraid.” MacKenzie sighs softly. So this is the Dragon King’s mother - it had been told she was a dragon herself but MacKenzie only sees a slim, golden-haired woman with a kind face. She could be anyone, really, and is only known as a king’s mother by the finery of her clothes. 

“I should have accepted his contract. I had bad advice, unfortunately, and I did not heed the counsel of my betters. I should learn to do better in the future.” A servant brings her food and wine and MacKenzie takes it gratefully, eating slowly so she does not throw it up. Her shame and humiliation is rolling over her in waves and the tears that she refused to have in front of the army are coming freely now. How is she expected to pull herself together for a wedding tonight? 

“Sweetling, don’t cry. Nothing will happen to you.” McAvoy’s mother is soft and soothing and it reminds MacKenzie of her own mother, long ago. It’s easy to fall into her arms and curl up, taking the comfort she hasn’t had in so, so long. She had thought she could be a queen and be strong and alone but while she thinks she can be strong, she doesn’t think she can do it alone. 

A servant comes with a note and Will’s mother takes it, reading it silently before tipping MacKenzie’s chin up and brushing away her tears. “Will wants to have the ceremony in the Godswood and wants to know if you would rather sleep in the castle tonight or here in his tents. We will be marching in the morning and he wishes for you to have comfort on your wedding night.” MacKenzie shrugs a little. She has no choice in any of this but she does think she would rather be bedded in an actual bed than in a tent. 

“In the castle. I...I should like to have a bed tonight for what we have to do.” McAvoy’s mother kisses her forehead lightly and scribbles down a reply, handing it to the servant. MacKenzie is quiet while she’s bathed and dressed and the gown she wears is one of McAvoy’s sisters’, soft blue edged in gold. His colors, of course, because the green and black of her house are probably not a good idea tonight. 

Someone manages to find her mother’s wedding cloak and drapes it around her shoulders before taking her to the Godswood to say the words. It’s a simple ceremony and one that MacKenzie has seen a handful of times over her life - her brother, her sister. It’s her turn now and her words are clumsy and slow. McAvoy holds her hand tightly and squeezes it; it makes her feel like he cares, somewhat, and that’s more than she would expect of a conqueror. He is much more than she would expect. 

His kiss is soft and brief and he escorts her up to the tower where her parents used to sleep long ago. It’s not the room MacKenzie has been using, it’s the king’s chamber, and she sighs softly. Of course he would want to use the Storm King’s chambers to bed the Storm King’s daughter. It’s only logical. Make the assimilation complete, more or less. 

“Please don’t force me,” MacKenzie says softly. Her voice is strong even though her hands are trembling but nothing prepares her for the look of betrayal on McAvoy’s face. His eyes are soft, a deep blue, and he blinks slowly before shaking his head. “I would not force a woman. I do not know what stories you have heard but I put any man to the sword who rapes a woman and I have never taken a woman into my bed who did not want to be there.” 

MacKenzie presses her lips together and winces when her split one stings. Of course. “Your Grace, you are putting me into your bed now and I do not wish to be there.” McAvoy closes the distance between them and takes her hands, brushing kisses over her knuckles. His mouth is tender and gentle against her skin and she wants to weep. The only kindness she has been shown the past few days has been at his hands or the hands of his mother; her own people betrayed her. Her own army. 

“I merely wish to sleep beside you, MacKenzie, because I am tired and I am certain you are. No harm will come to you in my bed. I assure you of that. If I ever, ever hurt you, you may drive a dagger into my heart yourself.” He squeezes her hands and turns down the blankets before motioning her close again.

“Let me unlace your gown, MacKenzie, so you may sleep.” MacKenzie turns so that he can do so but the entire time, she trembles like a leaf. She has no idea what to expect. Her mother had never told her what happened during a bedding and no maester ever entertained her questions. Her septas told her she was a wicked child for asking and that was for her lord husband to explain when she was older and MacKenzie had been left with no knowledge about bedding except that children resulted from it and rape was a perversion of it. 

“I...I am a virgin,” she says plainly. McAvoy sighs and pauses his fingers, brushing them up against the back of her neck. MacKenzie feels a shiver down her spine when his fingers are replaced by his lips and it takes her a moment to realize he is whispering against her skin and there are words she should make out. 

“I assure you, it won't happen with my trousers on. I don't know what you've been taught but you can't lose your maidenhead without taking off your clothes. I merely wish to sleep, MacKenzie.” MacKenzie sighs and shifts her shoulders a bit so that the gown falls to the ground. She still has on her shift and her smallclothes beneath it so she feels underdressed but at least she is not undressed. McAvoy slides off his leathers and tunic and boots before sliding into bed beside her. 

“I know...I know that it can happen by accident. That is where bastards come from.” McAvoy laughs softly and turns to face her, propped on his elbow. MacKenzie is struck by how handsome he looks, even if he is her enemy, and his tenderness is appreciated. She doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, however, and she frowns a bit. His fingers brush against her lower lip light as a feather, tracing that pout.

“If someone has told you that it happened by accident, someone has not divulged their own part in how said accident occurred. Sleep, MacKenzie. That is all I ask of you tonight.” MacKenzie sighs and flops onto her back, trying to sleep. It’s difficult when she’s aware of McAvoy’s body next to hers, warm and heavy, and she tries to ignore him as best she can. When she eventually does drift into sleep, she’s vaguely aware of his breathing beside her and how comforted she is that he’s there and nobody else is - she feels she is safe in his presence. 

Who would dare cross a dragon?

***

When MacKenzie wakes, it’s because McAvoy is extricating his arm from beneath her and failing miserably. At some point during the night, she’d ended up with her back fitted to his chest and he’s hard as a stone behind her, muscles and weapons and nothing soft. While he had taken off his tunic and leathers, it seems he still came to bed armed to the teeth.

“Your dagger is poking me. Get up.” McAvoy grits his teeth and hisses, finally getting his arm back and sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. MacKenzie rolls over to look at him and tilts her head, inquisitive. He’d seemed so kind the night before and now he seems likely to bite off her head if she says anything at all. 

“Well, you don’t have to be a dragon about it. Do we march today?” MacKenzie has never really been terribly far from Storm’s End in her life and she wonders where, exactly, McAvoy plans on taking her. He seems to be conquering all of the kingdoms around them and consolidating them into one massive kingdom with vassals and MacKenzie thinks that’s a fairly unwieldy sort of government. 

“My army will march. We will ride upon Azurian,” McAvoy says. His words are brief and to the point and his voice is rough with sleep. It seems her new husband is not a morning person. It takes MacKenzie a moment to realize that Azurian is his _dragon_ and she trembles a little. A dragon? How could he be sure it could even be tamed?

“With...the teeth and the fire? I don’t want to be roasted!” McAvoy turned and touched her face lightly, fingertips brushing against her cheek. “Azurian isn’t going to roast you. For one, she breathes ice. For two, she’s loyal to me and I am loyal to you. No harm will come to you. It’s Brax and Bane that breathe fire. They’re loyal to me, as well, and you need not fear anything. I promised in my vows before Gods and men to protect you. I mean to keep those vows.” 

MacKenzie doesn’t entirely trust the dragon but she trusts him, more or less, since he’s kept his promises thus far to her. A servant comes up with riding leathers in a small size for her and McAvoy’s own - apparently it can be chilly on the back of a dragon among the clouds and he wishes for her to be comfortable while they ride. 

“Where are we going?” MacKenzie asks. She dresses quickly and finds that she likes wearing trousers. It’s comfortable and the idea of riding on a dragon while wearing Valyrian clothes is exotic and appealing. McAvoy is a Westerosi name, though, and she wonders how he managed to get it when his look is entirely and completely Valyrian. “And why does House McAvoy have a Westerosi name?” 

McAvoy gives her a mild look and slides on a glove that looks similar to a hawking glove except that he has another on his right hand. To hold the dragon’s reins? Does a dragon _have_ reins? Too many questions and MacKenzie is fit to burst with them but she supposes she should simply ask them one at a time.

“My grandfather married a Westerosi woman who was the last of her house. He adopted her name in her memory, for he loved her, and he cared not for his Valyrian name. Before you ask, my Valyrian house name was Duncarion. It’s awful and it’s where your Westerosi name Duncan comes from - which is one of my names. We are flying to Dragonstone, MacKenzie. You ask entirely too many questions of a morning.”

MacKenzie sighs a little. “So we go to Dragonstone. After that? Are you just going to leave me on Dragonstone to rot?” McAvoy leans in and presses his lips against her forehead, just between her brows. It’s affectionate and not entirely what she had expected though, to be honest, nothing has been what she expects of late. She has decided not to form any opinions for the moment and simply observe. 

“Hopefully I will leave you with an heir,” McAvoy says, brushing his thumb against her cheekbone before drawing it away again. “But only if my queen consents. Come on. We have a lot to do today.” 

MacKenzie is McAvoy’s shadow while he prepares to ride. It seems that he is leaving his army in care of his lieutenants, Elliot and Donald, and intends to take some time away from the front to spend with her on Dragonstone. House McAvoy has been on Dragonstone for ages and it’s a poor land, built on top of a volcanic mountain and with only tiny islands around it that pay tribute. No wonder he wanted to conquer the rest of Westeros. 

MacKenzie has never been to Dragonstone but she’s seen maps and she knows it’s not so far from Storm’s End. It sits in a bay, too, and from what she knows of these things, the Blackwater is a better place to harbor ships than Shipbreaker Bay is. Perhaps that is where the majority of his fleet lay. The leathers she had been given fit like fine gloves and she likes the movement they afford her. She feels like some sort of ancient warrior queen instead of a gentle lady. 

“Come with me to meet the dragons,” McAvoy says, taking her hand and leading her to the edge of his camp where the three dragons are breaking their fast. Two of them are black monstrosities, Brax and Bane, but there is a smaller dragon with blue scales that she assumes must be Azurian. MacKenzie starts trembling when the beasts look up at her with strange, golden eyes and McAvoy slides his arm around her waist, holding her close; it’s a comfort, really, to feel him beside her. 

“This is your queen,” he says firmly. It isn’t the way one would talk to a dog or a child but the way a man talks to his equal. There’s authority there, to be certain, but a deep respect threads through his words. McAvoy’s voice is smooth and confident and MacKenzie can understand why men want to follow him. He seems like he knows what he’s about. The three dragons lower their heads and MacKenzie lowers her own, bowing a bit in deference to them. She keeps her eyes on theirs, wanting to be sure she doesn’t forget for a moment that they are powerful and dangerous beasts. 

“We’ll fly on Azurian. She’s a more agile flier than the other two,” McAvoy says, taking MacKenzie’s hand and leading her to the dragon. He boosts her on the back of the beast before sliding in behind her, one arm around her waist. “Lean forward, MacKenzie. Azurian won’t let you fall and it’s a bit easier if you keep lower to her center of gravity while you’re learning how to dragon-ride.” 

So one rode dragons without a saddle? Gods above, she is going to lose her life, isn’t she? MacKenzie leans forward the way he instructs and feels the powerful muscles of Azurian beneath her hands, feels the way they shift as the dragon pumps her wings and starts to fly. MacKenzie forces herself to keep her eyes open; she is the Storm Queen in truth even if she no longer has a kingdom or her own name and she is not afraid. She will never be afraid. She watches as the ground shrinks away from her and the tents fade out, watches as her world becomes nothing but cloud and sky. 

It takes only a short while to fly to Dragonstone from Storm’s End, only half a day. It’s too loud to say anything with the wind screaming around her and MacKenzie wishes she’d thought to bind up her hair before leaving; her hair has been streaming back into McAvoy’s face for the whole journey and even though he has not complained, she apologizes as soon as they touch the ground. McAvoy laughs and helps her off the back of the dragon and nuzzles up against her neck.

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve beautiful hair, my queen,” he murmurs. MacKenzie stiffens a bit and focuses on Azurian, who is stretching luxuriously upon the stones of the castle parapet. MacKenzie reaches out with a trembling hand and pets the dragon who reacts merely to blink slowly at her and fall asleep. 

“She wants to warm herself,” McAvoy says. “Let her be. Come, let me take you inside. Have you ever been to Dragonstone, my lady?” MacKenzie shakes her head. She’s the youngest daughter of a lord and her father would never have hoped to broker a marriage so high as with a dragonlord of House McAvoy. MacKenzie has always thought she’d be destined to marry little more than a hedge knight, or a lord of a minor house, never something so fine as a king. 

“This castle was raised with Valyrian magic,” McAvoy explains. MacKenzie cannot think because his hand is at the small of her back and she knows that he must want to bed her. There’s no one here at Dragonstone, only a few servants, and no one that would speak out against the abuse of a woman if she should protest. He’s speaking but she cannot hear any of it, all she can think about is what she must do. 

“MacKenzie, you’re trembling. What’s wrong?” MacKenzie sighs. Should she tell him? She thinks a marriage should be based on being open with one another and he has been kind so far. Perhaps if she tells him, he’ll be gentle with her. 

“I’m afraid of the bedding, your Grace,” she says softly. McAvoy cups her chin and kisses her gently, lips soft against hers. She likes the way he kisses, like she’s the only woman in the world, and she thinks she might get used to that happening more often. She thinks she could get very, very used to it. 

“If I had my time, I would stay here at Dragonstone and woo you. I want you to love me someday, MacKenzie, and I wish I could take the time to make that happen now. I cannot. When I leave here, I want to be sure I have an heir to pass my kingdom on to in case I should die in battle. I do promise you that I will be gentle, impossibly so, and take as much time as you need to be comfortable. Will you consent? I must have it before I take you into my bed.” 

MacKenzie considers his words. He means to be gentle with her, and kind, and she has always known that marriage required being bedded at some point. She had hoped to have a love match, being the youngest daughter of her house, but that is not to be. Her life is what it is now and McAvoy seems to be considerate and kind for a conqueror. She will not be afraid of him or of this. She will do this thing as she has been asked.

“I will,” she says, offering him her hand. “I will do what you ask of me. I will trust you, Your Grace.”

***

When MacKenzie offers her hand, Will feels relief wash over him. So long as she does not actively reject him, he thinks he can do this thing and he hopes that his concern and care makes an impression upon her. Will wants, desperately, for this arrogant Storm Queen to care for him and he thinks they will make a fine match once she learns she can trust him. She has taken the first, precarious step to that and he means to honor that bravery.

“Please call me Will,” he says softly. “I would have us be friends if nothing more. I would like you to consider me someone you can trust.” He presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist and MacKenzie closes her eyes. Will hopes it doesn’t mean she dislikes it; the last thing he wants is to do something to make her uncomfortable. “We can do this slowly,” he promises her. “It is not something meant to be unpleasant for you.” 

“I will make it feel good,” he assures her. Will has had women before but none of those women had been virgins; highborn girls keep that for marriage, barring something unforeseen, and the women he had taken into his bed had not been highborn. This is his first marriage and he means to start it out on a good foot in hopes that someday, they will love one another deeply. His father had been cruel to his dear mother and that is not something he is even remotely interested in. 

Will leads her to his bedroom here on Dragonstone. The lord’s chambers are high in the top of a spiraling staircase, well separated from the rest of the house. In anticipation of their arrival, the servants have changed the bed linens and put fresh flowers all around. The bed is large, carved with dragons in a heavy wooden headboard, and MacKenzie steps away from him for a moment to trace one of them, the sinewy lines of it. 

“Not one of the dragons alive today,” Will explains. “Some my grandfather had long ago. My three are the only ones left.” They haven’t laid any eggs though Will hopes Azurian is able to once they finish conquering this land and have some stability in their lives. Dragons are sensitive to change and it’s no wonder that poor Azurian has not had a successful clutch yet. All in good time. Will tugs MacKenzie back against his chest and his fingers find the laces at the front of her leathers. “I wish to remove these. Will you allow it?”

MacKenzie nods and Will obliges her, unlacing the leather bodice she’d worn while riding upon Azurian this morn and pulling it off. Her breasts are full and round, larger than he’d expect for a woman so slender as she. He cups one of them in his hand as he kisses her neck, causing MacKenzie to squirm deliciously back against him.

“Your Grace,” she murmurs, breathless. “Your Grace, I’ve never done this before.” Will is aware. He rolls one nipple between finger and thumb, bringing it to a stiff peak, and all it does is makes him want to put his mouth there too. Perhaps later. He turns her around and works down her leather trousers too, pushing them down before guiding her back to the bed. 

“Sit, MacKenzie. I wish to remove your boots.” She looks to make a protest and Will shakes his head. No protesting this. “In here, I serve you. You are my queen and I will treat you accordingly. I serve you, MacKenzie. No one else.” He slides off her boots, placing them beside the bed, and works her trousers and smallclothes the rest of the way off. She’s nude now and flushed with shyness and what Will hopes is a small amount of anticipation. 

“Stay right there,” he says, leaning down to kiss her gently on the mouth before standing and making quick work of his own clothes. He knows he is covered in scars from battle but he has a strong back and strong arms from wielding the broadsword and the bow and he hopes that’s pleasing to her. He wants so desperately to please her. He sits back on the edge of the bed beside her and cups her cheek, tipping her face to his for a long kiss.

The kiss is like sharing a soul, in a way. His breath is mingled with hers and he’s unsure of where she begins and he ends. MacKenzie seems tentative at first but something changes midway through and she meets him measure for measure in the kiss, her own hands coming up behind his neck to play in his hair as she slants her mouth beneath his. It’s so exquisite that Will can hardly bear it and when he pulls his mouth away, a quick glance at MacKenzie shows high color on her cheeks and her lips are stained red from kissing.

He’s never seen anything quite so beautiful. 

“There is more. Would you like me to continue?” MacKenzie nods and Will eases her back onto the bed, dragging his kisses from her mouth down her throat and to her breasts. This time, he indulges himself and cups them into his hands, teasing each of her nipples with his lips and tongue and the barest edge of teeth. The latter seems to take MacKenzie by surprise and she gasps aloud; when Will pulls away, she drags his head back down and holds it there, a silent request for more. He indulges her utterly; waking up her passions is what he’d wanted all along and if she likes this, he means to give her as much of it as she can stand. He kisses her there, over and over, and when she squirms beneath him, he makes his way down lower. 

His lips find her navel, the soft curve of her belly and her hips. He parts her thighs with one hand and she lets them tip open easily. Will slides his gaze upward, wanting to see her face when he touches her here for the first time. No man has ever touched her here and if he is the first (and hopefully last) he wants to see how she reacts to him and etch it into his memory. He isn’t disappointed. At the first stroke of his finger, MacKenzie’s eyelashes sweep down a hair, her mouth parts, her skin flushes. 

“More?” she whispers. Will drags his fingers through her folds, testing her as much as he’s trying to arouse her. He thinks if she is highly aroused, taking her maidenhead won’t be nearly as unpleasant as it could be. He slides his fingertip around her, just discovering how she likes to be touched and when he finds a place that makes her hips rock up off the bed, he presses a quick kiss against her thigh.

“Is that the place, then? Would you like me to kiss you there?” MacKenzie frowns a bit and looks utterly charming as she does. It’s as if he’s asked her some sort of riddle and she’s trying to puzzle out the answer when in actuality, all answers are the correct ones. Her hand finds his hair and ruffles it a bit before she nods.

“I’m very messy,” she murmurs. “I hope you do not dislike the taste.” Will muffles a laugh against her thigh and presses his tongue to her, a quick swipe that flicks against the spot she’d so enjoyed earlier. MacKenzie’s hips arch and he looks up at her, soft smile across his lips. 

“You taste wonderful,” he assures her, then fixes his mouth to her a bit more firmly. He means to keep his promises to MacKenzie as often as he can and that includes here in their bedroom. Will sucks at her lightly, increasing his pressure when MacKenzie seems to be responding to it and when she is impossibly slick, so much so that his beard is damp with her, he tests her with the tip of his finger. He presses further when she responds to that and eases his whole finger inside; he damn near loses his head when she squeezes around it and he buries his face in her thigh, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there until he leaves a bright mark.

“Was that not all right?” MacKenzie asks, voice a little tremulous. Will eases another finger in alongside the first, crooking them a bit, and focuses his tongue a bit higher. He means to bring her to ecstasy first, to show her how good this might be, before he takes her completely. She’s so sensitive that it does not take long and MacKenzie is clamping down around his fingers, impossibly tight. It’s all he can do to not think about how that would feel around his cock when he was buried deep in her. By the Seven, she’s perfect. 

“You are perfect in every way,” he assures her. He eases his fingers out and kisses her, letting her taste herself, before shifting to cover her with his body. “I do not mean to hurt you in this. Has anyone told you about being bedded? Anyone at all?” MacKenzie shrugs a bit. 

“Any questions I have asked have been quelled and I have been told that my lord husband would explain it to me someday. I suppose someday is here now, yes?” Will nods. He tugs one of her slim hands downward and wraps it around his cock, letting her feel the length and girth of it. “Do not worry,” he promises. “We are made to fit together, you and I, and I have done my best to prepare you. It may hurt some this time and I am sorry for that but I assure you that it will never hurt you again. I never, ever want to bring you to harm, MacKenzie.” 

MacKenzie presses her lips together and moves her hand up and down tentatively and now it is Will’s turn to groan. He stops her with a hand on her wrist. “I will allow it later. I must…I do not wish to spill before I have a chance to father an heir on you. I know that isn’t terribly romantic and I apologize. I wish that time was not our enemy in this.” MacKenzie laughs softly and pulls her hand away. 

“I am yours, my king. I assure you, I am yours.” Will shifts between her thighs and presses into her slowly, watching her face for any signs that he may be hurting her. She winces a bit and he pauses even though she is hot and wet against his cock and he waits until she nods again before pushing in to the hilt. He kisses her brow gently, then her lips. 

“I am going to move in you now, all right? Nice and slow. The pain will ease, I promise it will.” His hips move up, drawing nearly out of her, and press back in again. He feels her tightening around him and keeps slow, not wanting to hurt her. Gods, he’s never been in anyone so tight as she is and he does not know if it will always be this way or if it is because she is a virgin and frightened. “Talk to me, MacKenzie. Tell me if you’re all right.” 

Will knows highborn women do not often complain in their marriage beds but he wants MacKenzie to know that she can always come to him with a concern, can always trust him. Perhaps this isn’t a love match but he wants to show her that he cares for her concerns and wishes to treat her like the queen she crowned herself as in Storm's End. She has lost nothing by coming with him and he means to prove it to her. 

“It is better now,” she says softly. Will feels her relax a bit beneath him and while this relieves him some, he still moves gentle and slow. It is only until he cannot stand it any longer that he pushes into her deep, clutching at her hips and groaning against the soft skin of her neck as he finishes. He thinks he will come to love MacKenzie very, very soon and hopes that she will feel the same way about him. He eases out of her slowly and tugs her to lay against his chest, fingertips stroking her hair and the soft skin of her back. He wants to be here forever. 

It is only a pity he must ride to war.

***

MacKenzie never expected to be sad to see her husband ride to war. Will has spent the last several weeks with her on Dragonstone and he has bedded her as much as he has been able to amongst all the other preparations to be carried out. She hasn’t had her courses yet and she hopes that means he’s left her with a babe in her belly but it is too early to be certain in spite of her badgering the maester to tell her. Today, he rides to the Westerlands to conquer the King of the Rock and he is leaving her behind on Dragonstone with a garrison made up of men from both the Stormlands and his Kingsguard.

Dragonstone is a lonely spit of land and MacKenzie is up on the battlement today, wind whipping at her hair and gown. Will means to take off from here on Azurian and MacKenzie wonders if he’ll ever come home again. He hasn’t lost a battle yet – the odds, at least in this, seem to be in her favor. Will is dressed in mail and leathers, sword slung across his back along with his longbow. 

“I wish you did not have to leave,” she says, prompting him to take her hands in his and drag them up to his lips to kiss. It’s impossibly tender and MacKenzie closes her eyes to quell the bubbling emotions within her. The last thing he needs before riding to war is a weeping woman on his hands. She is not the sort to do that. 

“I wish that I could stay. You own me, MacKenzie, in every way imaginable. I will return and I hope to hold my son in my arms when I do.” Will touches her belly lightly and MacKenzie hopes that she has quickened, that she is fertile. She is one of six herself so it is not like she came from a barren line. She is untried, yes, but none of her sisters have had trouble bearing sons for their lord husbands. She hopes that she is no different than they are. 

“I love you, MacKenzie of House McHale. I will return to you.” Will punctuates that strong statement with a kiss right there on the battlements with the stiff ocean winds blowing all around them. She yields to his kiss and he drops his hands low, cupping her bottom and pulling her to him so she can feel him hard against her belly. Battle seems to have riled his blood and it is a pity they cannot go to bed now; MacKenzie would have liked one more chance to provide him the heir they need before he goes off to be killed. She only wishes he would stay with her until a pregnancy can be confirmed. Is that so much to ask? To ensure he leaves her behind safe and carrying a dragon? 

“You have to come back,” she says, making him swear it over and over as she cries. The tears come to her unbidden but even though she weeps, she does not tell him that she loves him. MacKenzie has never been in love and she’s unsure how it feels. It has only been a few weeks, the marriage was arranged – she doesn’t know what to think of the feelings she has for Will McAvoy, tender as though they may be, and she does not wish to lie to him. She has always been terrible at lying and she thinks it would be disingenuous to do so now even if he is riding to war and may never return.

She stands on the battlements as he flies away, watching Azurian until she is but a bright blue speck that blends into the stormy grey skies. When she can no longer see the dragon, she takes to her chambers and remains in bed for the next day or so, frightened for him.

He has to come back.

***

MacKenzie spends the next several weeks running the household. She finds the servants at Dragonstone are kind and eager to please their new mistress and she goes through and makes an inventory of all the things they have in residence and all the things they need. There has not been a mistress of this castle for some time and some of the softer things are simply not provided for; MacKenzie sends word to Storm’s End to bring her dresses and fine linens for the bed as well as all of her jewels. She has a dainty crown that was brought to her by messenger made of Valyrian steel and deep red rubies. It had come with a hastily-written note from her king.

> MacKenzie –  
>  I have conquered Casterly Rock. The sword of their house makes a fine crown for my queen’s brow and I wish to see you in it upon my return. I go to the North now. Please send a raven to your brother to ask his surrender. I do not wish to see bloodshed, especially not someone of my dear wife’s family. I hope to return to you soon, my queen. Until then, you own me.  
>  \- Will

MacKenzie thinks about writing him back to tell him her news – she has missed her courses for long enough that the maester feels comfortable telling her that she is pregnant. She is ecstatic about this and as the weeks turn into months, she wonders if Will is going to come back in time to see her like this or if he will come back to see her with a babe in arms.

It is summer and the summer has lasted for three years now. The days turn a bit cooler on Dragonstone while Will still battles in the north and one day, there’s a white raven for the maester that announces that autumn has finally come. With the autumn, MacKenzie gives birth to a boy with a shock of blonde hair and deep brown eyes. She names him Arlan, and her days become consumed with caring for him while she waits for his father to arrive home. After what feels like ages and is much more like a year and a half, she receives a raven from Will indicating that he will be home soon and that her brother has bent the knee. He will be leaving him as Warden of the North and marching home, hopefully to be back within two months. 

MacKenzie can hardly wait.

***

Will rides ahead of the vanguard on Azurian, leagues disappearing in moments as she streaks across the sky in a flash of ice blue. He follows the Kingsroad for a while, turns and flies to King’s Landing. There is a city being built there, the place where he first invaded Westeros, and he hopes to eventually move his queen there. They will hold their court here, make everyone else come to swear fealty, and leave the local powers to run their kingdoms as they see fit. There is still the Dornish problem to deal with, as Princess Sloan refuses to treat and keeps sending back the heads of his bannermen but he hopes that he can send Donald to her soon with a host of men and get some results. If not, the land seems poor and arid and he is content to let her have it.

It takes him several weeks in King’s Landing even though his heart resides on Dragonstone. He has not seen MacKenzie in over a year and he wishes to see his queen again, to hear her speak instead of reading brief missives with nothing personal in them for fear they will be intercepted and opened by someone who isn’t his wife. He loves her and that feeling has only grown stronger while he has been gone. She is wise and confident and stubborn and he thinks she makes the perfect queen for someone as stubborn as he is. He can only hope she is still content with being his queen after so long. 

Finally, on a day where the sun peeks out from behind thick clouds for the first time in several days, Will announces he will be flying to Dragonstone. He wishes to see his queen again and his tone brooks no argument from his small council. He can hardly be faulted for wanting to see about his own affairs once more now that the affairs of Westeros have been settled. 

He flies without ceasing, soaring above the clouds on Azurian, and when his feet touch the stones of the parapet at Dragonstone once more, he is seized with nerves. How will MacKenzie have changed since he saw her last? How will he have changed? He is a man who has been in war more than peace and he has no idea how to run a kingdom he isn’t actively trying to conquer.  
He steps inside the halls once again and is greeted by MacKenzie in a simple blue gown, the crown he’d forged for her from Casterly Rock’s sword resting upon her brow. Her hair is shining and long, worn loose, and on her hip is a bright-eyed boy who is babbling happily. His eyes are dark, like MacKenzie’s, and there’s a dusting of freckles across his nose. His hair, though, is pale and like his own and Will knows. 

He just _knows_.

“This is my son?” he asks, words trembling a bit as he draws closer. MacKenzie nods. “I have named him Arlan. It’s an old name from my family. I hope you do not mind? We can change it, if you wish.” Will shakes his head. The name is fine. His son is perfect. There is very little that could make him happier than this and he leans in to steal a kiss from MacKenzie, lips insistent against hers. She kisses him back eagerly and it is only when Arlan begins to fuss that she pulls away. 

“He’ll want to nurse, I think. Shall I tell the housekeeper to make up your chambers for you? I have been sleeping in the queen’s suite since you left.” Will nods and touches her shoulder lightly, squeezing it. 

“Tell them to make up my bed and I would ask that you share it with me, if that is what you wish? I want to become reacquainted with my beautiful wife.” 

MacKenzie laughs softly and nods; she has a beautiful laugh, soft and full of life, and Will thinks he has made the perfect choice in a queen. The perfection of that choice is only confirmed when she leans in and whispers softly against his ear, gives him the words that he has fought for and wanted since he met her back at Storm’s End all those months ago. 

“I love you, Will of House McAvoy. Welcome home, my king.”

Now it is time to work on building his kingdom and making it into something worth fighting for.


End file.
